ALL THE DAMN THINGS. Also, Chickens!

I don't know and can't decide if I want to vent all over this Blog Thing or tend to make it habit to sort of reign that shit in. So today, I'm just going to go with the attitude and decision of: "Fuck It." Because oh my God I NEED that attitude today. I need the FUCK IT ALL attitude if I am going to make it through today in one piece.

My head is swimming today. So many things. Have to do all the things. Oh my God too many things. Was in The Black Deep Hole for months and let everything go but now ALL the things left undone are SCREAMING all at once because OMG EVERYTHING ALL THE THINGS NEED MY ATTENTION RIGHT NOW. Noisy bastards.

I swear to fucking God, have I been cursed? The central air stopped working yesterday. Now my fridge is not working. Outside hose not working. WHAT ELSE WILL BREAK NEXT. HEY, THINGS. THINGS BEHAVE. STOP BREAKING. My garage door, half of it fell off. I am not kidding. Awesome. Now any creatures can come and go as they please. I'll have a raccoon nesting in the seat of the tractor next time I go to cut grass. Excellent. WINNING.

Seriously, it's really starting to feel like I need to fucking walk around the house throwing salt over my shoulder and burning sage and swinging shrunken heads and howling at the Wolf Gods and the Cheetah Gods to lift The Curse That Has Settled Upon My House and chant and sing naked under a full moon and do stuff with crystals and do whatever one does with chicken feet although that part I'm not really serious about because I'd prefer the chickens keep their feet.

Seriously, the chickens need to keep their feet. Chickens are nice. I like chickens. Cool? Ok then.

Here. I drew you another silly picture. The chicken looks perplexed since it's so damn hot in here. And my brain is too busy spinning to correctly spell the word "fridge." Whatever. Shut up. I love you. Smooches!

I Love You. Here's An Angry Cat. And A Grumpy Rabbit.

Today started off awesome! and great! and fabulous! and exclamation POINTS!!! and then became bad and stupid and today is an asshole.

HOWEVER. I do not want this blog thing to become a sad little place. I'd rather make you laugh. So, BEHOLD: I DREW YOU RIDICULOUS PICTURES. After lamenting the fact I'm scared to draw in my usual style because I'm paranoid someone might recognize my usual style. You know, because I have hordes of eager readers hanging on to my every fucking word. Or maybe I'm just paranoid and crazy. Yeah. It's probably the Crazy.

BEHOLD! I DREW YOU A DISGRUNTLED BUNNY RABBIT! Why the hell is he so angry? Fuck if I know.



AND ALSO! HERE IS AN ANGSTY CAT! I don't know why he's so mad either. Stop asking questions.



I love you! SMOOCHES!

Because I Know YOU ARE DYING OF CURIOSITY.

So. Yeah. Here's A Little Bit About Me.

My real name is not Enid. That fancy-smancy-ass name up there at the top of this here blog thing is one I made up, a pseudonym. Did I say that yet? I don't remember, and I'm too lazy to go look. I'm not brave enough yet to tell you, Dear Gentle Readers, what my real name is. (I love talking like that. You know, pretending I've got, like, hordes of fascinated readers refreshing the page multiple times in hopes that I've graced the Internet with more of my inane babble.) Because lately my Crazy has reached a new level of Crazy that I am experiencing for the first time, which apparently requires 4 different types of Crazy Pills to contain my Crazy and bring me down to a somewhat normal level of... something. Yeah. Also, obviously, I tend to curse a bit on this here blog thing. Ok, whatever, I cuss a lot. Shut up. It's therapeutic. And if certain family members (who I love so dearly, they help keep me from going absolutely completely bat shit insane, they are such wonderful people) saw the cursing, and also the very honest ramblings I have and will put here about the darkness and the depression and exactly how it has REALLY affected me, then they would worry even more than they worry already. And they already worry a lot. And right now, at least, I feel the need to protect them just a bit. Just a small bit. From my Crazy. Crazy with a capital C, mother fuckers.

I think I went off on a tangent. So. Ok. I'm Enid. I have a small herd of cats and the tiniest hamster in the world. I'm 37. I have no children. I currently have no job, a fact that is most certainly adding to the Crazy. Also, I can draw.

I can draw really fucking good, people. I can draw circles around you. I'm amazing.

Shut up. I am completely allowed to brag about it, because it is true, and also, because it's really the only thing I'm good at.

Speaking of, hey! Oh! There shall be Drawings! here on this blog thing. Soon. As soon as I can get off my lazy ass and draw them! and upload them to the blog thing. Yes. And you will marvel and ooh and ah over the beautimous beauty they will add. Oh yes you will.

Or something.

I totally took my pills too close together today.

I WAS PRODUCTIVE, PEOPLE. MARVEL AT ME.

Are you utterly shocked and amazed? Do you need a moment? It's ok, I'll wait.

You back? Awesome.

Seriously. I was. Productive, that is. And it was more than just brushing my teeth. In recent days and months the pinnacle of my productivity was brushing my teeth. That's why I couldn't be bothered with brushing my hair. Stop looking at me like that.

But, yeah. I redid my resume thing. It's all fancy and shit. And made with photoshop. It sparkles and has unicorns and rainbows in the margins and it's strawberry scented. (Betcha didn't know you could do THAT shit with photoshop, these days, huh?)

I'm kidding. It doesn't glitter in sunlight like vampires apparently do these days. It has no unicorns or other foo-foo-fluffy shit in the margins, nor does it have magical fruity smelling properties. Because apparently those hiring HR-type people have no imagination and don't really approve of that shit.

But! My resume! It is pretty. And eye catching. But still looks professional, and much like a non-crazy responsible human being created it.

So give me a cookie, dammit. Preferably one made of unicorns and rainbows. That'll make me sparkle. BECAUSE I DESERVE IT.

Well, Hot Damn, Mother Fuckers, We're In Business.

Hi there. Welcome to, uh, this here blog thingie. I do hope you enjoy your stay. You can call me Enid. Nice to meet you.

It's probably going to be disorganized around here for a bit. I don't know what I'm doing. My thoughts are sort of everywhere. But I feel obligated to, like, officially introduce myself. Or something. Or, I guess, what? State the purpose of this bloggity thing? Yeah, that's it.

Stop! You might not want to sit there. God knows that pile of laundry is comfy, the cats sure think so, but it's dirty. What? No, I don't remember the last time I've done laundry. Shut up.

Yes, I do know I have, like, 73 unanswered emails. Why are you going through my computer? I also have 24 voice mails that I've yet to listen to. I'm too busy. Taking naps. And no, I don't remember the last time I cleaned the kitchen. Stop looking at all those dirty dishes. Yes, I know they're not going to wash themselves. Ask me if I care right now. Go on, ask me. Do I care right now? NO. NO, as a matter of fact, I could not care less about those damn dishes.

When's the last time I took a comb to my hair? My God, you ask a lot of questions. I brushed my damn teeth today, do you realize how much effort that took?

Now hush up and listen.

Fuck. I forgot what I was going to say.

So. Yeah. I'm Enid. The last few months of my life have been... rough. Lots of bad things happened. Had a hard time dealing. Fell into a big scary black hole.

I felt very, very alone.

Now, I have a strong urge to write. To share my experiences or something. Shit. That sounds cheesy, doesn't it? Whatever.

I guess I got to the point where I simply felt so fucking alone, that I realized that others have felt, or are feeling, or will feel that same dark loneliness. And the thought of someone else going through that, well, it kind of broke my heart even more than it was already broken.

So I guess my point is, if even one person reads this, and feels a bit less of a freak, a bit less alone, feels even a small ray of hope that they're not the only one that hurts like this and that makes it a bit better, well, then... it'll be worth it.

Depression sucks. I've delt with it for most of my life. For the past few years I think I've managed to be, or appear to be, a functional human being. It was exhausting. I was a barely functional depressed person. And several months ago, I started to fall apart. Really fall apart.

But I think I'm starting to crawl out the hole.

I think.

I hope.

So! Hi! Welcome, nice to meet you and all that jazz. Obviously, this blog will be all hearts and rainbows and I love unicorns who prance across the fluffy clouds and glitter and rainbows again and hearts and stars and shit. Yeah. All that.

But seriously, I'm glad you're here.

I Wrote You A Love Letter.

This is an open letter to anyone out there contemplating ending their life.

Are you feeling suicidal? Then I'm talking to you. Yes, YOU. I won't allow it. No. You are not allowed to commit suicide.

See, for the past few months, I haven't really wanted to live. But I'm not allowed to kill myself. It's simply not an option. For a few reasons. I just can't.

And mother fucker, if I am not allowed to off myself, then dammit, neither are you. I know 2013 has been a bitch so far. Not to mention the last couple months of 2012 acting like a bastard. I had high hopes for 2013. I hoped me and 2013 could like, be BFF's. Braid each other's hair, tell each other secrets, giggle while we painted each other's toenails. But 2013 raged into existence like a crazed wildebeest in a china shop having a bad trip.

In short, 2013 sucks. And that, my dear friend, is an understatement. 2013 had me thinking of offing myself.

But, like I said, I can't do that. And if I can't, you can't. You are not allowed. You're too special. Too precious. Too loved.

Please, if that brought a grin to your face, don't off yourself. You're special. Really special. There's too few people in this world who get my sense of humor. You are special, and I'd very, very much like it if you stuck around.

Or is that too much? Did I offend you? Are you pissed off and feeling self righteous now? Because you're shocked and appalled that I could treat something as serious as suicide as lightly as I did? Are you really angry now?

GOOD. Get angry. Get really mother fucking angry. You should be angry. Angry as all mother fucking hell, bitch. You know why? Because depression is a fucking bastard. A fucking bastard who LIES.

DEPRESSION HAS BEEN LYING TO YOU.

Depression tries to tell you that you're worthless, you're bad, you're stupid, you're blah blah blah de fucking blah blah on and on and on it talks so damn much about so much bullshit and it's all LIES. Christ on a fucking cracker, it will not shut up. It goes on and on blah blah blabbity blah and you're not good enough and nobody cares and nobody understands and blah blah blabbity BLAH the world would be better off without you, your friends, your family, they'd be better off without you blah blah blah OH MY GOD, DEPRESSION, SHUT UP.

I know all too well how much depression just loves the sound of it's own voice. And you know what else I know? I know you are not alone. I know you are not a freak. I know you are loved, whether it's by a spouse, a lover, a friend, a child, a grandparent, or maybe even that homeless guy you felt sorry for yesterday and gave a couple bucks to and smiled at. You made that guy's day, because you made him feel like someone cared. And he loves you for that. Or that old dog you always see on the way to the store, he looks so forlorn, but he perks right up when he sees you because you always have a kind word and a soft pat on the head for him. Even that dog loves you. Depression wants you to be blind to this love, blind to the empty black hole you would leave in this world if you were gone. Depression is a sneaky bitch who blabs at you all day, telling you all sorts of lies. And I know, that if you have put up with that, those horrible lies that depression just loves to spew, whether for one tiny week or for twelve long years, you're a Goddamned hero.

You, my friend, are a bad ass mother fucker. A Bad Ass Mother Fucker. So get mad. You should be mad. Stomp, kick, scream, punch the wall. Fucking break shit.

You deserve to be angry. Because you've been lied to.

So get mad and scream and yell and get it all out. And then laugh. Laugh like a Goddamned feral maniacal hyena, my friend. Laugh until your face hurts and your belly aches. Laugh until tears stream down your face.

You deserve a good laugh, my dear, sweet friend. You deserve that delicious wild laughter that one experiences so precious few times in life. You know the kind, the kind of loud bubbling laughter that takes on a life of it's own, and you just can't stop it once it gets going.

You deserve that, and so much more.

Because you are a Bad Ass Mother Fucker, my wonderful sweet friend.

So don't do it. There is nobody else like you in this world. We cannot lose you. You are way to precious and important.

And I'll say it again, because this part's the most important part:

You are a Bad Ass Mother Fucker. The world needs you in it.